by L. P. Gibbs
“Now then, don't be shy, girls,” he said to them through the microphone with a laugh, causing everyone else in the pub to turn and look at them. His oversized, thick black eyelashes fluttered and he waved his hand in the general direction of the bar. “Go and get yourselves a drink and enjoy yourselves, my loves.” They hurried to the bar in embarrassment, ordering a Babycham each.
The two girls sat at a small, round table against on of the side walls with their drinks and the singer came and sat beside them in an empty chair to take a break, crossing his long, fish-net stockinged legs and gently patting the back of Sandra's hand with a teasing smile on his face.
“I gather from your startled expressions that you didn't realise that this was a gay pub, then?” he asked with a smile. Janet was staring hard and could not get over how much make-up the man had used. Sandra was dumbfounded. “Don't worry, we won't attempt to corrupt you in any way,” he continued, chuckling at his own joke. “My name's Dave, by the way” he continued by way of introduction. “Dave Lynn, and up there, that's Frank playing with his organ.” Dave waved in the direction of the organist on the small stage.
Dave was obviously a good comedian as well as being a talented singer who made a joke out of almost everything he said, double-entendres being his forte. “Everyone knows me in here so if they see me talking to you, you'll be alright, sort of accepted, so to speak,” he told them. Dave stood up, pouted outrageously, blew a kiss at them then turned and headed back to the stage to continue his set, stopping on the way several times to speak to a number of the seated regular customers. A couple of them looked across at the girls so they guessed he had mentioned them.
They spent over two hours in the small yet packed pub, listening to Dave singing and joking, not leaving until well gone eleven o'clock. They had quite a long chat with Dave and vowed to return another night before setting off for home, both slightly tipsy. They had thoroughly enjoyed their evening and were glad that they had found The Black Cap. Holding each other up, it took them over half an hour to cover the short walk back home. They almost missed the alleyway that went beside the canal and was a shirt-cut home. From that evening on, they went there once a week and over time became well known to all the regular customers and bar staff.
However, after three months had passed in London, Sandra was beginning to feel a little homesick for her home town. She had never been away from home before and was missing her grandmother deeply, even though she telephoned home three or four times a week from the nearby call-box.
The work at the record shop had become somewhat boring and gave her very little to occupy her mind with once she had returned to their room. The wages were quite bad too as she only worked part-time. Having run out of money before the Thursday of each week was getting to her as well. She decided to tell her room-mate of her intentions to return to Newcastle late one Saturday afternoon as they sat on their bed with their usual fish and chips meal.
Most of the shops in the West End of London closed early on Saturdays, usually around one o'clock, so they were both at home by late afternoon just after five. The chippy, just a few shops along from their lodging house was their main source of their evening meals, not having the means or permission to cook in the small rented attic room. Sometimes fish, other times a steak and kidney pie or a saveloy, but always with chips. Chips were a must.
`“I think I'm going to go back home, Jan,” Sandra ventured, looking sideways at her friend, somewhat afraid of how she would take the news. Janet stopped chewing on a piece of fish for a brief moment as she registered what Sandra had said, then continued eating and finished her meal before replying.
“I thought you might,” she sighed at last. “I can't go back with you, though, Sarn. For a start, my old man would kill me.”
“Well, you did knock him out cold.” This caused them to both start laughing before falling silent once more, sitting beside each other on the bed. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, taking in what had just been said.
Sandra eventually broke the heavy silence. “I've got my weeks wages in my purse, so I'll go tomorrow morning after breakfast if that's alright with you?” It was a question rather than a statement. “It's Sunday too,” she continued in the same, sad voice, holding back the tears, “so the trains won't be all that crowded.” Janet squeezed her friend's hand warmly and smiled back at her.
“Course I don't mind, silly. We did give it a good try though, didn't we? And we had some laughs too.” Janet smiled at her friend.
“Shall we go to the Black Cap tonight to cheer ourselves up a bit?” Janet asked hopefully. “One last fling before you go? What do you think? Dave will probably be there and he's always a laugh.” Sandra slowly shook her head.
“I don't think so, Jan,” she replied. “I wouldn't be able to enjoy it properly, knowing that I'm going home in the morning. Besides, I'll want to be getting up early and I'll need a clear head, won't I?”
“Okay, I understand.”
“Will you be able to manage the rent on your own though, Jan?” Sandra asked. “I'll give you some to pay it tomorrow when he comes up for it.” It was always on Saturdays that Arthur usually called for the rent money, but he had gone to visit a relative that weekend and had informed them that he would collect the rent money when he returned on the Sunday, a day later than usual. He always knocked early in the morning and Janet once suggested with a laugh that it might be because the dirty old sod was hoping to catch them in their skimpy nightdresses.
“Don't worry, pet. I'll get the rent somehow, you'll see,” Janet told her. “I'll get some extra work if it comes to it.”
The next morning after their breakfast of hot tea and corn flakes, they set off together for the station. There was a one and a half hour wait for the next Newcastle bound train so they passed the time sipping coffee from the horrid styrofoam cups that it was served in at the buffet room. People-watching was one of their favourite pastimes in their room, observing from the window at the street far below, watching people scurrying past, making up names and professions for the strangers, laughing aloud at some of the suggestions. They carried on with this game whilst seated on the bench in the middle of the station concourse. Their conversation became gradually stunted as neither of them really wanted to part but both knew it was for the best. Sandra would never have lasted in London, Janet knew. It was too crowded for her liking, too fast a pace to keep up with. A far cry from what she had grown up with.
When the train finally arrived at Platform Three, Janet walked with Sandra through the barrier to the carriage and helped her on with her case which was considerably heavier than when they had arrived. Janet promised to telephone the day after next and then every week on a Tuesday evening to let her friend know that she was alright. Talking through the open window in the door of the carriage, they were both in tears as the train jerked and then gradually pulled away from the platform at the appointed time, the powerful diesel locomotive growling as it began its long journey Northwards and Janet waved with a heavy heart as it left the station, Sandra with her face pressed against the glass of the window as she sat down in her seat.
When she got back to her house, Arthur was waiting at the top of the steps, leaning against the door frame and manufacturing one of his roll-up cigarettes with the aid of a small, Rizla rolling machine.
“So,” he began, with a filthy grin on his stubbled face as his tongue licked the adhesive line on the cigarette paper, “your girl-friend, she's left you on your own then, has she?”
“Don't worry. You'll still get your rent every week,” she replied and pushed past him to make her way up to her room, sensing his leering eyes on her legs as she ascended the staircase.
“I'll be up for it shortly,” he said, smirking.
“Yes, I'm sure you will,” Janet replied over her shoulder.
When she entered the room it felt decidedly empty without Sandra's presence, but Janet vowed to get extra work not only to ensure the rent was paid, but also to get a few nice
ties around the place to make it more bearable, just a little more like a home, albeit a temporary one. One of the first things she decided to save up for was a small refrigerator for the milk, cheese and the like. She sat down on the bed and counted out what little money she had left in her purse. Just enough for the rent money and to see her through the week until payday on Friday.
Deciding that a cup of tea was in order, with the kettle in her hand, she went to the little sink to fill it and let the cold water dribble slowly in. That was when she noticed the small, brown envelope standing up against the wall and wedged behind the tap. It had her name scrawled upon it in blue biro and she opened it to find a letter from Sandra accompanied by a ten pound note. The short letter informed her that Sandra wanted to pay her share of the due rent for the week and a bit extra as she wouldn't need it when she got home. Janet put the kettle down, sat back on the bed and wept as she read the note, feeling totally alone now.
There came a knock on the door and she instinctively knew it was Arthur wanting the rent money. She sighed, got up and opened the door.
* * * *
SOHO BECKONS
Having worked at Adrian's for some twelve weeks now, Janet also found part time work washing up in a small cafe in Royal College Street on the other side of Camden Road during the evenings and sometimes on Sundays. The cafe stayed open until eleven at night, catering mainly for the local youngsters with their motor scooters. The place was often crowded, especially at weekends as they played the pin tables and continually fed the old, stand-alone jukebox. The work didn't pay very much, but it was cash-in-hand and it was enough when added to her wages from Adrian's for her to cover her rent and to be able to put a few pounds aside each week in a little box under her bed. The middle-aged couple who ran the cafe were good to her and she was allowed to help herself to meals and coffee while she was there. She made sure she ate her fill so that she could save a little money on food as well. Having nowhere else to go and nothing to do, Janet was happy to work until late for the extra money it provided.
She was also being sent more often to Berwick Street Market to purchase haberdashery for Adrian's and, on these frequent excursions, she managed to find her way around Soho and took her time on these errands, marvelling at the strip-tease clubs and the sex shops, neon lights ablaze even during daylight hours. Janet didn't know that things like this existed before now. Newcastle-Upon-Tyne certainly never had such things going on in the open, although she suspected there may be places like this that were kept secret from the general public.
It was during one of these missions that she came across a small cafe on Old Compton Street near the entrance to Walker's Court. It didn't look like one of those that hooked in the tourists and, it being almost lunchtime, Janet went in and ordered fried eggs and chips. The meal was inexpensive and well enough presented, so she returned there almost every day to eat during her lunch hour. Having a nice, cooked meal in the middle of the day meant that she only needed a sandwich as a snack in the evenings when she was working in the cafe. Their cooking wasn't all that good and Janet had often seen what went on in the kitchen with cockroaches running amok which tended to put her off the food if she was honest with herself..
It was in this Soho cafe that she met Alex, a busty blonde girl who always dressed very smartly and was expertly made up. She was slightly older than Janet, probably in her mid twenties, around five feet seven inches tall in her heels. Janet had noticed her in there a few times before and after a week or so of seeing each other, they were more or less on nodding terms.
One day, Alex came and sat at Janet's table just as she was finishing her meal of steak pie with mashed potatoes, peas and gravy. She gracefully lowered herself onto the chair opposite her and smiled as she opened her handbag and took a cigarette from a silver case, lighting it with a flourish.
“You're becoming a regular in here, aren't you?” the girl said. It was more of a statement than a question. “My name's Alex. Are you working round here too?”
“Yes,” Janet responded. “In Regent Street.”
“You're working in Regent Street?” the other girl asked with amazement. “Nobody works Regent Street these days, it's far too dangerous. There are always plain-clothes Old Bill wandering around looking for pickpockets. Plenty of girls have been arrested for working that beat.” It took Janet a few moments to understand what Alex was saying and then the penny dropped.
“Oh, no,” she said with a laugh. “Not that sort of working. I work in Adrian's dress shop in Regent Street, almost opposite the Cafe Royal as a junior sales girl.” Alex appeared to be a little embarrassed by her mistake and lowered her head into her hands with a snigger, trying to muffle the sound.
“Sorry,” she said with a smile when she looked back up. “When you said you were working, I just naturally assumed you were on the game. The only girls that are regulars around here are working girls like me.”
“I just come in here for my lunch each day. It saves me having to make a proper meal when I get home.”
“Oh, I see. From your accent I assume you're from the North somewhere?”
“Yes, Newcastle. I came down here with my friend but she's gone back home now so I'm on my own in a grotty bedsit in Camden Town.”
That was the start of a friendship between the two girls. They met almost every weekday at lunchtimes and then one day Alex suggested that they meet up for a drink one evening. Janet readily agreed. Sitting alone in her room each night was boring and she spent most of her time looking out of the window as the world passed her by, punctuated only by the occasional visit to The Black Cap pub, but that had now dwindled to just once a month, sometimes even less. It wasn't the same being on her own. She occasionally received strange looks from some of the patrons. It was agreed that they should meet on the corner of Old Compton Street at eight o'clock that coming Friday evening, and on the appointed day, Janet arrived early to find that Alex was already waiting there. She looked marvellous with her long, blonde hair flowing across her shoulders in wavy curls, wearing an expensive looking, long black coat.
“We'll start off at St. James' Tavern first and then go on from there,” Alex told her and they linked arms to walk down the slight hill to the pub.
By nine forty-five, they had probably had a little too much to drink but then decided to move on to the Whisky-A-Go-Go discotheque in Wardour Street, opposite Chinatown, which occupied two floors above a bookmaker's shop. Huge, floor to ceiling windows overlooked the street below where youths congregated in the hope of getting a glimpse up the skirts of some of the female dancers above them. An enormous black man in an evening suit barred the entrance to the disco. Janet was wary, but Alex appeared to know the man as she went up to him.
“Hiya, Kirk,” she said with a smile. The man looked back down at her and flashed a broad smile showing a gold tooth.
“Y'alright, darlin'?” he asked, as he lifted the heavy, cloth covered chain that was strung across the entrance.
“You know me, Kirk,” Alex responded. “I can't smile wide enough.” She led the way through and Janet followed. They climbed the stairs to the first floor and then went up a spiral staircase to the top dance floor.
By half past one in the morning they were both danced off their feet and decidedly drunk. They staggered, giggling down the two flights of stairs, each holding the other up. On passing the enormous, black doorman and leaving the club, they were accosted by a short, fat, dodgy-looking Irishman who asked if they wanted a taxi. They giggled again and told him that they did, and with a click of his fingers, a young West Indian man appeared beside them.
“This way, girls,” he said with a grin and led them across the road to a battered old green car. He opened the back door for them and they clambered in, sprawling across the tatty back seat, Alex pushing the other girl in. Janet told the driver to take them to Camden Town.
On arrival at their destination they were charged five pounds for the relatively short journey. Alex, in a distinctly slurred vo
ice, told the man he was a ripping them off but, still tipsy and giggly, they paid anyway and Janet, urging silence by putting her finger to her lips, led the way up the thinly carpeted stairs to her room. Unfortunately, their climb up the stairs was far from silent so Janet kept hushing Alex which only caused more fervent laughter. Upon entering Janet's room, they both fell fully dressed upon the single bed and were fast asleep within moments.
The next morning, they were awoken at ten thirty by Arthur banging on the door for his rent money. Janet just about managed to scramble out of bed to open the door, her head was that fuzzy and confused. She was shocked when she saw her reflection in the little rectangular mirror that hung on the back of the door, hardly recognising the reflection that gawped back at her. Hair all over the place and sticking out like a scarecrow's. She tried to smooth her hair down as best she could, realised it was wasted effort, shrugged and opened the door.
“Rent day, sweetheart,” Arthur told her, looking over her shoulder with a leer at the prostrate form of Alex laying, her skirt riding up to her thighs, face down on the bed. “Got a visitor then, have you?” he enquired, the corner of his mouth curled up in a pervy sneer as he licked his lips and rubbed his stubbly chin. “You know you're not really allowed visitors, don't you?”
“Yes, I know, Arthur,” she responded. “It was too late for her to go home by the time we got back here.”
